And tell the girls and boys worried about walls and bullies the stories. Tell them there are Mariposas everywhere, including inside them, seemingly fragile, hiding in cocoons, developing wings that can carry them across continents, borders, and over the intolerance and violence that the worst among us can stir up.

I'm more and more convinced that as responsible and responsive storytellers, we have an important role to play in bringing about the changes that must happen if we're going to survive on this small planet of diminishing resources and in a world where violence threatens to divide us into us and those others who are alien to us.

In this new age of accessibility, we are all constantly barraged with information about any number of tragedies beyond the ability of our minds to process and our hearts to reflect upon and our wills to act on. What if anything is our obligation?

Like many of you, I was shocked by the news of the bombings at the Boston Marathon on April 15th, 2013. I wrote this essay to understand my disheartened response, not only to the marathon bombings but also to the subsequent failure of our congress to pass stricter gun-control laws.

If you can believe it, the country whose Mariposas inspired a global movement, International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, November 25th (day of their murder), now has a bill introduced into the congress which would set back women's rights fifty years!

This past October, 2012, we held a historic gathering commemorating the 75th anniversary of the Haitian Massacre, a shameful genocide of Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent on the Dominican side of the border under orders of the dictator Trujillo.

Excerpt from the speech I gave on October 4th, 2007, at the United Nations, during a session honoring my mother, Julia T. Alvarez, and her long years of service as an alternate representative to the Dominican Mission to the United Nations.

In 2012, Border of Lights planned a successful and heavily attended vigil on both sides of the Massacre River in Dajabón, DR and Ouaniminthe, Haiti. This year we wanted incorporate anyone who feels compelled to commemorate and drive the conversation about injustices within the diaspora.

Before I knew it, we were buying abandoned, deforested plots, planting trees that would protect the little coffee bushes, organizing the small farmers into a cooperative, bringing our coffee directly to customers in the United States.